


Avoiding the Aftermath

by RebootTheRat, serpentcorelyss (CosmicallyLyss)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Author Is Not Religious, Character Death, Greek gods, How Do I Tag, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Rarepair, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, collab writing, one author refers to the gods way more than the other, references to apollo, references to icarus, teen suicide, well one author is jewish and the other is a witch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:36:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28681941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebootTheRat/pseuds/RebootTheRat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicallyLyss/pseuds/serpentcorelyss
Summary: Daishou and Kuroo found their rythm, but it gets stripped away from them too soon.
Relationships: Daishou Suguru/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Avoiding the Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Italics is CosmicallyLyss 's writing and plain twxt is my writing.

_ Being scared of heights is a pointless thing. A measurement of elevation can’t hurt a person; it’s the fall that’s harmful. Yet nobody ever says they’re afraid of falling. So when the boys leave their houses to play around outside with only the smoldering, blazing heat of the sun to watch over them, they can’t understand why they’re told, “Be careful, you’ll be high up.” What’s so scary about being able to overlook the dazzling sapphire waters of the sea that laps at the bottom of the cliffside? What’s so scary about the warm summer breeze that whips their hair in front of their face, obscuring their view of each other? What’s so scary about the strong, solid earth under their feet, about the rocks that trip them up and make them skin their knees? The answer is easy - the answer is nothing. Being scared of heights, of wind, of ground…it’s all pointless. Fear has no place in their world, not when they’ve got the stability and safety of each other to rely on. _

__ _ One of the boys, the older one that’s a bit shorter, with sage green hair, and serpentine, hooded eyes the color of pine trees, likes to watch the sun as it sinks below the horizon. He likes how it turns the cobalt waters to a sea of ruby, and bathes the other - who’s younger than him by four months and sixteen days, and taller than him by four-point-three inches (they counted), with hair as black as night and eyes as golden as liquid sunshine - in a fiery glow. It’s magical, ethereal…or perhaps he’s just biased, enamored with how red and gold suit the taller boy perfectly. There’s a special shine to his dark hair during the sunset. It’s vibrant, vivacious… As the sun bids its goodbye, its biggest fan will turn to his friend, a wide grin on his face; the glimmer of a day of mischief still shines in his irises despite the sun’s inability to illuminate the glow. And the friend smiles back, missing teeth marking his youthful grin, the sparkle of the night’s earliest stars reflected in his bronze eyes. Sunset is a beautiful time - its admirer’s older sister doesn’t think so, though. She considers it to be the death of the day. But the younger brother, though he can understand that interpretation, knows there’s more to it. He can recognize beauty in death. _

__ _ They spend the nights there when the night is warm enough to permit it. They don’t necessarily have permission to do so, but authority has never seemed to stop them. So when their respective parents are too focused on their older sisters to pay any mind to what their sons do, it’s easy to sneak out from their houses and make their way to each other, guided by nothing but constellations. The taller boy takes some snacks to last them through the night, and the shorter boy - with his obsession of needing to prove he’s the stronger of the two - stakes a claim on the responsibility of taking a tent for them that he’ll try and pitch himself. He completely ignores how he takes so long to reach the destination because it’s heavier than him. When they arrive at the top of the cliff, maybe they’ll harbor some regrets; there’s a chill in the air that rolls up from the water many meters below them and neither of them brought sweatshirts. There’s a tattered blanket that’s been in one of their families for generations, and they find solace in that. That, and each other’s thin arms, still soft with childhood. _

__

_ The push-and-pull dynamic they share is something that gets their curiosity to run wild, and the golden-eyed boy has heard his parents talk about the concept of soulmates before, so he did some research into what they meant - ever the young scholar. He’d found one tale he likes more than others, one that talks about the red string of fate that connects a twin flame to its other half. The boys know they’re too young for the type of love they’ve seen in their parents (Romance in single-digits is a bit too far-fetched for them, despite how mature they might try and act.), but they notice how their looks towards each other are filled with a similar type of adoration. Couple that with the fact that they had been each other’s kindergarten boyfriend...and it’s easy to understand why they think that one day, when they’re much older, they could share with each other the kind of love their parents do. _

_ The advent of autumn is more appreciated by the taller boy. It’s his birthday, so now they’re both seven, meaning the shorter boy no longer has that advantage on him (that is, until, next July rolls around). There’s so much he loves about the season… The sights, sounds, smells… The vision of trees that appear to be on fire with how vibrant their leaves are. The crunching of the leaves that wind up under their soles when their fire burns away to embers, and the ashy brown leaves don’t have the strength to stay attached to their branches. The scent of crisp apple and hearty pumpkin that flood the open air speak to how full of vitality the world is. The black-haired boy is infatuated with the season. And the green-haired boy...can’t fully understand it, even when it’s explained to him. Though, he supposes he can understand autumn’s special sights, sounds, and smells. The colors of autumn...red and gold, mainly. Wrapped around his best friend, he can understand their appeal. His best friend’s laughter that he lets ripple through the atmosphere when he jumps into leaf piles bigger than him, high-pitched, high-volume...that’s appealing, too. The distinct smell of cinnamon that autumn brings, he likes, though it’s a scent he notices year-round every time he gets close to his best friend. The shorter boy’s liking of autumn doesn’t stem from the season itself. It’s the attachment to his best friend that he values. _

_ Winter...it’s generally disliked by them both. Their parents keep a better eye on them in the winter, finally making sure their boys are safe and sound in their beds at night. So no cliffside sleepovers, and when they do manage to sneak away up to their favorite liminal space, its high elevation combined with its location right on the water doesn’t bode well for keeping the kids insulated - especially for the green-haired boy who’s got almost everyone he knows convinced he’s secretly cold-blooded. He’ll act like he’s just fine, though, wearing tee-shirts and shorts just like his best friend, because if his friend’s golden skin can be just fine in the winter chill, his own glacial skin (now turned a rosy pink from the biting cold) will hold up just as well. The push-and-pull, the competition… it’s always been there with the two of them, but it heightens as the seasons change. It’s a race to the top of the cliff, it’s a battle of who can make the biggest snow fort, it’s a competition to see who can stand the longest on their hand-me-down ice skates - both from their older sisters, pink for the shorter boy and purple for the taller. Nothing changes about their friendship, nothing quells the love in their hearts they’ve got for each other. The rivalry they develop serves one purpose, they think - to give the both of them a reason to improve themselves. They lift each other up. _

__ _ They don’t have a strong opinion on spring. Does anyone? It’d be hard to believe, at least in their eyes; they wonder how someone could feel so strongly about something so middle-of-the-road. The temperatures all stay within a few degrees of each other. Day and night seem equal in length. Sometimes it rains, sometimes it doesn’t. It’s average; painfully so. Neither boy likes how ‘average’ makes them feel, though. They’re both in middle school prep classes, they’re more academically and artistically inclined than most of their peers. In their world, they exist on a plane that’s far more than average, and they believe that their status makes for a good reason as to why they have such disdain for the word. There’s nothing special about spring, but the boys want special. They crave it, yearn for it. They live surrounded by the near-celestial grandeur that each other exude… They’re enigmas, they’re supernovas, they’re entire galaxies. Color and wonder and mystery. They’re captivating… So much more than the bland space dust of spring. _

__ _ The return of summer. The return of their cliffside sleepovers, of less parental supervision, of a connection with the freeing feeling of nature. The air is hot and sticky, tasting vaguely of salt from the waters far below them. On top of the world, so close to touching the sun, they become finely tuned to the atmosphere’s changes. They’re able to tell when a thunderstorm is on its way from how their wind-whipped hair will stand on end, air becoming alight with static. Summer brings the sweltering oppression of heat, the revered solace of rain. The return to the cliffside brings the power of height, the feeling of invincibility they experience as they look over the open sea, arms spread wide to welcome the humid air and mouths open to expel shouts of glee. Summer means the shorter boy is eight now, regaining his age advantage. He’s still losing their competition of height, though, and now it’s by an even wider margin. Gone is the four-point-three inch disparity; it’s increased to a five-point-one inch difference. He’s self conscious about it (though he’d never bring himself to admit it) - thinks it’s unfair how his best friend gets to grow while he’s seemingly stuck despite all he does to try and grow alongside him. _

__ _ Extracurriculars… They’re something special that both boys find themselves attached to. The older, already planning years ahead for his soft childhood features to fade away into hardened muscle, joins a volleyball team. What he lacks in stature, he’ll make up for with sheer ambition. Ambition knows no bounds, he says, pallid skin flushed red from exertion. He fights tooth and nail, he plays dirty and underhanded, he does everything in his power until he’s playing in the position he’s desired for so long - middle blocker; relying on height. His best friend has asked him what he gains from cheating, why he uses dishonesty to his advantage, and it wedges a rift between them. Rainwater seeps into sidewalk, the ominous chill of misunderstanding freezes it, and as it thaws it leaves behind a crack in the solid foundation. Miniscule, yes. Obsolete, yes. Negligible, yes. But existent. The boys can’t see it, don’t realize it’s there, but it’s a stark reminder to the surrounding world that visible and real often will not coexist. _

_ The younger finds his place in the world of dance, his lithe form preferring the grace of ballet, ballroom, and contemporary. There’s a comfort he finds in rhythm, a sort of respite he receives from the music that flows through his veins. Academically proficient, especially in math, so counting in groups of three and four is nothing challenging. It’s cathartic, it’s a way to cope with the loss of his mother and sister, taken from him not by death, but by a loss of love; his mother packs two suitcases, one for herself and one for her daughter, and she leaves. She leaves her son alone, so he finds company in dance. He’ll make his best friend dance with him sometimes, coach him through the steps and let him tiptoe into his private safety. Dance is what brings them closer again, the cement that mends the sidewalk crack. They twirl in time with the wind, taking control of their movements instead of being overwhelmed by the gale forces. The taller boy realizes then that no loved one lasts forever, but he’ll always have someone or something to cling to. _

__ _ Their favorite dance is the waltz, though their knobby knees and juvenile clumsiness leave the dance far from perfect. There’s something so enchanting about the rhythm of the dance, something that leaves them both breathless; the obsidian-haired boy explains it’s something called three-four, a concept the fern-haired boy doesn’t exactly understand. He can’t keep time with the 123, 123, 123, 123 whispered in his ear, and instead uses the crashing waves below him as his metronome, keeping him from stumbling over his feet - at least eighty-nine percent of the time. The way they work is different, but they work together. A symbiotic relationship, mutual support… Atop the cliffside, swaying side to side with clasped hands, mirroring each other’s amused, awestruck grins, they’re fearless. High up, on top of the world, arms outstretched to reach the heavens, they’re fearless. Their dance becomes faster and faster, less of a waltz and more of a fandango, fiery and impassioned and reckless and bold. They touch the clouds, their fingers burn as they brush the surface of the sun. They touch the stars, their fingers freeze as they glide across the craters of the moon. They’re reaching higher and higher. They’re flying with wings of gold - unafraid. _

__ _ They should have known acting with such temerarious abandon leads only to tragedy. It happens in the last days of summer, when the vacation bonfires don’t burn as long or as bright. It happens at dusk, when the sky is pink and purple like their ice skates and the sun and moon can coexist. It happens when they’re dancing too close to the edge, outstretched arms stretched over the precipice. It happens when the younger boy falters in his counting. It happens when the tide is too low for the older boy to keep a steady beat. It happens in a moment of confusion, it happens in a moment of miscommunication. It happens when one boy loses his balance and can’t find solid ground. It happens, and both boys find themselves too confused to scream.  _ Why?  _ Why have their hands broken apart? Why has the sprightly laughter stopped, replaced by deafening silence? Why is the black-haired boy alone on the top of the cliff? Why, when he looks over the edge, does he see his best friend with green eyes wide in terror, the details on his face blurring as he descends? Why can’t he move? Why can’t he save him? The older boy hasn’t ever known what fear is, even now. Height isn’t scary, and the fall...it’s not scary either. The sun is behind him, below him; it’s golden hour at the cliff’s peak. There he is, his best friend shrouded in liquid sun. Apollo, he thinks. Strong and musical and the very sun himself. He’s becoming smaller and smaller by the second, and the green haired boy can start to hear the waves. Of course he hears them now… There’s a flash of desire to save himself followed by a pang of realization that he can’t fly away. Gone are his wings, he must have forgotten them on the cliffside. There’s a golden halo around his still-standing best friend, there’s something lyrical about the way he’s screaming for the shorter boy to come back. Apollo, he thinks, and he closes his eyes as the crashing of the waves overwhelm his small body. _

__ _ At age seventeen - a full decade later - the boy of onyx locks and honey irises is a middle blocker on his high school team. He’s close to all his teammates, he’s the team captain, even, yet he can’t bring himself to explain to anyone the burden he carries from witnessing visions of an apparition with golden wings - a jade-tinted, seafoam-adorned Icarus who haunts his every nightmare, his every daydream. _

  
  


The color green was terrifying in Kuroo's eyes. He'd see it everywhere, at first it was the green hair of his best friend, then the green tint of the waves as they swallowed him whole. After that, the green sheets as he helped clean out the room that once belonged to someone he loves. The color green was terrifying in Kuroo's eyes, not only because it haunted his every movement, but also because of its horrible history of death. During the Victorian era, the emerald green dye of fabric and objects was said to be toxic, leading to the death of too many people. This meant that naturally when the prophecy of his Icarus happened, Kuroo first pinned the blame on the color green and it's definite misfortune. The horrible green saturation of the Nohebi academy uniform. He'd seen their games against Nekoma many times, sneaking off from his dad's care whenever he could to go see their matches. 

Dance would always be his love, he told himself as he walked to the Nekoma volleyball gym on his first day of highschool. No matter what, he'd always have a special place in his heart for it. The rhythm of dance never quite leaving his body, having grown accustomed to the lanky limbs and fastly growing muscles. Staying put inside his heart even after the period he blamed himself for the death of his partner. The rhythm finally found its place in volleyball. The familiar push and pull of competition bringing back the feeling he so dearly missed. The rush flowing through his body as he fought with another first year on the team, though every time they'd fought he almost reminded himself of fighting a child, the other first year being much shorter than he himself was. 

Soon enough everything fell into place, he and Yaku, the name of the other first year he'd learned, stopped fighting as much, finding solace in Kai, their mutual friend. and it seemed that everything was okay in the end. Though most people believed it was bad luck to declare something as okay before it was over, Kuroo wasn’t one of those people. Overjoyed at having new friends and maybe finally getting over an old loss, Kuroo didn’t notice the amount of times he’d toss and turn in his sleep, his dream being haunted by the one person he’d vowed to move over. It wasn’t much of a deal in Kuroo’s eyes, he was still functioning well, Kai and Yaku didn’t seem to notice anything out of the ordinary, and so he didn’t do much about it. It didn’t go on for too long, not to say it got better though. While his vastly concerning dreams stopped haunting him at night, he started to see things in his wake. 

He was used to seeing things in peripherals, black shadows that seemed to move every time he tried to get a good look at them. Green, the color flooding his pupils once he let his guard down. Under coercion, he let his parents convince him that the person he’d seen in his side view was not, in fact, Daisho Suguru and just a trick of the cold winter. Of course that didn’t make him any less paranoid as he tried to get a good look at the shadows any time they appeared. He let himself stop in his tracks, making him fall behind the rest of his team, he was the captain now, crowned that title as their third years left the school. Of course, stopping in his track meant that Kenma, who was clinging to his left arm so he wouldn’t get lost while walking as well as playing his game, also stopped. Kenma looked up from his game for the first time since he got off the bus. “Are we in the gym yet?” 

He asked as he looked around taking in his surroundings before looking back down to his game. “Why did we stop?”

“Oh, I didn’t even notice, sorry.” Kuroo responds as he quickly looks around the area, hoping to catch even a small glimpse of Daishou, or at least the ugly green and yellow uniforms of Nohebi academy, the school they were going to be playing. Kuroo looked around the gym, once again looking for a specific set of eyes and green hair, he’d always imagined it’d be side swept, looking pristine even in the dead set of winter. He was so focused he didn’t notice Kenma handing Kuroo his switch and walking over to the court, starting to set for his teammates during warm ups. Quickly he put Kenma’s switch in his gym bag before walking over to join the rest of his team. Before he even realized, the game had begun, and they were losing so far. 

As the game went on, Kuroo could feel himself getting exhausted and soon enough Nekomata sensei called a time out. Due to his inability to stay composed during the game, Kuroo got himself switched out with a first year whose name he couldn't remember. Thankfully, when the switch was made, the team seemed to be back on it's track, their defense and offence landing them the win. Yet, when asked about the game, Kuroo wouldn't be able to answer any questions they had. All he could think about was the head of green hair he saw as he moved across the court. The side swept hair that never got the chance to see the light. 

Soon enough they were back in familiar territory, Nekoma's volleyball gym. Finally Kuroo had felt free enough to close his eyes without seeing the smile of his loved one.  _ Love.  _ Kuroo used to think he'd never be in love. His heart had left him when his light had caused his childhood friend to drown. Kuroo was only a child, but he knew he had loved Daishou. He knew it when he missed their pillow fights. He knew it when he would wake up in the morning with an extra warmth on the bed. He knew it when he looked out the window into the cliff they named theirs. He knew he loved Daishou.

"Kuroo, are you coming over?" The question had left him too baffled to properly form an answer. 

"It's fine if you don't want to but my mom is making mackerel pike, I know it's your favorite." Kenma didn't seem to notice his pause and kept on talking about how his mom had asked him to ask if he had wanted to come. Whatever else Kenma was going to say got lost in his throat as he looked up from his game. Kuroo hadn't even been paying attention, instead choosing to stare straight ahead to the wall. "Kuro?"

Tentatively, Kenma reached out a hand but before he could actually touch Kuroo, he seemed to snap out of his daze."sorry Kenma, I won't be able to today, lots of homework to do and I have a test coming up, maybe next time." 

Without warning Kuroo turned around, grabbed his gym bag and walked out of the gym. As he walked farther away from Nekoma, he could practically feel Kenma's gaze following him until they couldn't anymore. He blamed himself for leaving his team alone when they needed him most during a game, wanted to apologize for ducking out in such a critical moment. Yet when the time had come he had said nothing. Once he realized where his feet were taking him it seemed too late to back down. The place eerily silent as he krept up higher and higher, his bag only creating dead weight as he dropped it halfway up the steep climb to the cliff drop. 

Kuroo stood, staring down at the frosted waters,it wasn't cold enough to freeze it, but it was cold enough for it to look ethereal and cast a blurry reflection. The setting sun cast an orange glow through the cliff as he looked down at the waters. Kuroo remembered that day as if it was yesterday. Neither of them had meant it. 

They were only six and a half, left to their own devices under the care of Kuroo's older sister. They were inside for once, it being too cold to play outside, sitting in Kuroo's bedroom floor, watching a random tv show. They tv was playing loudly, and yet neither boy had paid any attention to what the actors were saying. They were too busy staring at each other. Daishou had just kissed Kuroo's cheek, like they'd seen their parents do so many times. It was innocent, it was cute, and neither of them had a full grasp of what it had meant. 

But, as Kuroo stood on top of the world, he smiled, remembering the small flutter in his chest as he looked at his best friend on the sunlit cliff. "Hi."

And there he was, Daishou Suguru in all his childhood glory. Mud staining his clothes and hands, dirt tracking under his fingernails, a Slytherin print t-shirt dirty with an afternoon's adventure."we used to be best friends." 

He wasn't sure who was talking at this point, the boy next to him morphing older and taller, his voice dropping an octave. He knew this wasn't really Suguru, knew this was a figment of his imagination. Suguru had never been able to live this long, he never had the chance to find a signature hairstyle or a sense of fashion so kuroo filled that in for him. Used his extensive knowledge of Suguru's childhood closet to create a new wardrobe for him.

"Why did you let me go?" And once again the figure morphed, this time into something more horrid. Of course his childhood friend was still next to him, and yet he wasn't recognizable. His face distorted, his eyeballs uneven and slowly falling down his melted face. His parted lips too long, his jaw unhinged. A sight to see, and it shook Kuroo to his core. "why'd you let me down Apollo?"

"Apollo? I'm far from it." Was his responce. "I might've been better, once. For now I'm just here, wishing I could do more. Wishing I could've went instead, or been able to stay with you as you fell." 

"You were my sun, I was filled with light as i descended." The boy next to him assured as if he could ease Kuroo's nerves and anxieties. The more they talked the worse Kuroo's conscience was. "Have you finally decided to join me?" 

"Yes." 

And as the final rays of the sun fell behind trees and land, Kuroo's body hit the ocean floor, finding it's long lost lover and finding peace for all of it's eternity.


End file.
